The Summer Lodger
by DeadWoman
Summary: Watson is away for the summer and Trish is a philosophy student who moves in for the summer. Dragging her on his mad adventures will Trish and Sherlock fall in love?
1. Chapter 1

**The Summer Lodger**

_First try at a Sherlock fanfic (although I have one on wattpad called I, Cumberbatch featuring Benedict and some fandom celebrities/characters)! _

_No characters are mine except Trish. _

_**Roommate wanted until 1st September. Must be willing to put up with some strange behaviour from other roommate. Gets own room. There is a kitchen, a living room and a bathroom. Nice lady downstairs. 221B Baker Street. **_

_**-SH**_

I look up from the advert I had cut out of the newspaper and examine the building. It was the right address so I knock on the door. An old woman answers, smiling. "Are you applying for the roommate ad?" She asks cheerfully.

"Yes. It hasn't been taken, has it? I'm a bit desperate. I don't have much time to find a room." I babble on and she stops me by disappearing up the stairs. Uncertainly, I follow and she leads me to a door.

"This is Sherlock's apartment. His friend John Watson has gone to his sisters for the summer and he gets bored easily. He needs constant entertainment and we want him to have more social interaction. He doesn't get out much." She unlocks the door.

"He sounds like a dog," I laugh and step in. A dark curly haired man is perched on an armchair, looking at a bowl of cereal with weird concentration. "Hi."

He looks around. "Good morning. I'm Sherlock Holmes. We'll be alright now." He says to the woman and she leaves.

"I'm Trish." I say and he stands up, letting his cereal spill onto the floor. My eyes flicker to it then back to him.

"Trish...Patricia...old fashioned name, you're embarrassed of it. Named after a relative on your mothers side. Your grandma. Shortened your name to Trish when you decided to move to London. Not move...university student. What's your major?" He asks and I stare.

"Philosophy." I say. "How did you-"

"Know all that? Quite easy to discover the origins of your name. Requires a bit of thinking. You're a student because of the suitcases and no boxes of furniture things. Philosophy, eh? Never met a philosophy student. We will have some stimulating conversations this summer then, won't we?" Sherlock says and gives me a slow smile.

I fold my arms and glare at him. "I'm named after my mothers aunty actually. And who says I'm moving in with you?"

"Always get something wrong." He shakes his head. "You're a philosopher, I'm smart and the only other flat available that would meet your standards is a share with two dumb guys who would hit on you every day. I checked it out."

"I might want to be hit on every day." I reply.

"Fine. Goodbye then." Sherlock turns away and throws a towel on the spilt cereal. He waits , back to me and I feel a smile creeping over my face. This guy is strange but a bit interesting.

"Which room is mine?" I ask weakly. He spins round and I try to hide my smile but he must see it because he winks at me and shows me to a bedroom.

**Xxx**

"Trish!" Sherlock calls me and I hurry into the kitchen, half in a jacket with my hair in a messy ponytail.

"Yeah?" I ask.

"I'm going to a murder." He says and puts on his suit jacket.

I pause. "Do you mean you're going to murder someone or are you a detective?"

"Neither. I-"

"Are you covering up a murder?"

"I'm not a murderer!"

"Are you sure?" I try to look serious. "You have the look of a psychopath."

"How many times do I have to tell people? I'm not a psychopath, I'm a sociopath." Sherlock sighs and my smile fades.

"So you have the potential to become a murderer?" I say then grin again. "Awesome. Come on. Let's go to the murder."

**Xxx**

Once we are walking towards the murder scene, Sherlock turns to me. "I'm a consulting detective. Only one in the world. When the police need help, they consult me and I often solve the crime faster than they ever could."

"Show off." I mutter and look at the dark sky. "Looks like rain."

"Often does. Shall we run?"

"Huh?" I have time to say before he grabs my hand and drags me off. The streets whip by in my vision as I run through London, holding the hand of a possible psychopath and my new roommate.

Eventually he stops and I bump into him. He laughs at me as I lean against a wall. "I haven't ran like that since high school."

"I haven't ran like that since last week. If you're going to be solving murders with me, you'll have to be good at running." Sherlock tells me and takes off his coat. "Shall we go inside, Miss Jennifer?"

I can't remember telling him my last name and I am about to tell him that I won't be solving murders with him when he catches my eye. The steel grey of his eye twinkles in the light. "Certainly, Mr Holmes."


	2. Chapter 2

"Who's this?" A man asks as soon as we step into the building. There are people in jumpsuits, doing police stuff.

"This is my new temporary roommate, Patricia Jennifer." Sherlock says. "She's replacing John."

"Call me Trish," I shake hands with him and he smiles at me.

"Greg. Greg Lestrade. It's a pleasure."

Sherlock grabs my arm and pulls me away. I start to protest but fall silent when I see the body lying in the middle of the floor. "Um, Sherlock?" I say.

He's examining the body but looks back at me. "Yes?"

"This is my first dead body. Remember that? And it's kind of disgusting." I add and feel vomit rise in my throat. I retch and he looks worried.

"You look pale. Sweaty. Sick?" He asks and I nod. "Oh dear. Maybe you should stay outside until you can brave it." He suggests and I shoot out of the door.

Taking deep breaths, I wait for a few minutes. Eventually a woman comes out and I smile at her. "The freak sent me to see how you are." She says. "I'm Sally Donovan."

"What do you mean freak?" I say.

"He's a psychopath-" she starts.

"Sociopath," I interrupt. "He's a sociopath. Do your research."

"Ahem."

I look up to see Sherlock looking at me strangely. I awkwardly smile and Sally Donovan mutters something to herself. "Shall we go, Trish?" He says. "I know a great little Italian around the corner."

"Sure. I'm starving." I smile and we start to walk. I look behind me as I hear a snort and see the woman shaking her head.

**Xxx**

"So that Sally Donovan, she calls you freak?" I tuck into my pepperoni pizza hungrily.

"Yes. She thinks my deduction skills are freakish but she's just jealous. And she keeps calling me a psychopath. They all do."

"But you're really a sociopath," I finish for him. "Pizza?"

"No thanks. What you said to her back there, he's a sociopath, not a psychopath do your research."

"What about it?" I blush. It's embarrassing being caught defending the eccentric psychotic man you just met that day.

"I said that to this annoying guy calls Anderson once. The first case I did with John actually. I told him that very same phrase." Sherlock says and checks his phone as I process that. Does that mean something big in Sherlock's eyes? I ask that and he just smiles. "We need to go to the morgue."

"Please don't say we're looking at bodies." I weaken but he's already outside, hailing a taxi. He's already paid so I quickly run outside and get in the taxi before it sets off.

"Can we get something to eat first from a shop? I want some chewing gum." I say and Sherlock sighs.

**Xxx**

We arrive outside the hospital, me blowing bubbles and Sherlock shooting me annoyed looks. I finally take the gum out and put it in the bin. He relaxes. Then I bring out my chocolate bar.

"Want some?" I offer when I see him glaring at me.

"I don't eat on cases." He says as we arrive in the morgue.

"Why?"

"Digestion slows me down." He replies.

"Sherlock Holmes, that's ridiculous and you know it!" I snap and hold out the bar. Lestrade and Donovan start to look at us. Sherlock folds his arms and gives the impression of a stubborn child.

"No."

"Eat. It will keep your strength up."

"No."

"Fine. But if you faint, I'm not catching you." I say and he shrugs.

"I never faint." Sherlock says before turning to the police officers. "Lestrade, why are we here?"

Then Lestrade says a whole load of police stuff that I don't understand and Sherlock starts to inspect the body. I take a deep breath and go to join him; thinking that his presence will be comforting somehow. "What are we looking for?" I whisper.

"A tattoo. Three centimetres by four centimetres and red. It looks like blood apparently."

"Who would want a tattoo like that?" I frown.

"You know what the best tattoo to get is? I've been suggesting that John get one." Sherlock trails his fingers over the corpse's chest.

"What's the best tattoo?" I say before he gets distracted.

"A picture of my face on his back then he could show people it when he gets kidnapped by people who think he's me and no-one would be so conceited to get a tattoo of themselves." He pokes the body and I flinch, half-expecting it to move.

"Does he get kidnapped often?"

"Surprisingly yes. I don't know who would think he's me. I'm a genius and he's...well, compared to everyone else my brain is like a buzzing thriving bee-hive and everyone else's are..."

"Dead bee-hives with one bee?" I suggest but he ignores me.

"Hmm," he examines the dead body with interest.

"What?" Lestrade jumps up. "What have you found?"

"Very interesting." Sherlock ignores him too and I notice his expression. He looks curious and interested in the body. It was the same expression he looked at me with when I defended him against Donovan.

"What is interesting?" I poke his arm and he stares at me.

"Hmm?"

"What's interesting?" I repeat in exasperation and he blinks, apparently confused. Then a small smile flashes across his face.

"Oh! Nothing! I remembered something I have to do for Mrs Hudson. Must dash. Come on, Trish." He drags me out and as soon as we get out of the hospital, he starts to speed-walk down the street.

"What's up?" I ask and he holds my hand as we pass a man on his phone. The man briefly looks up and scans us. I pretend to smile at Sherlock until the man is out of earshot then glare at him. "We're in danger, aren't we?" I demand.

"That man had removed his tattoo but you could see traces of it. Black flower. A black lotus flower."

"So?"

"It's a Chinese smuggling gang with something against me." Sherlock tells me. "They'll be looking for a tall man at crime scenes and a soldier. They won't be expecting you. The leader was murdered but they will know generally how I look." He adds and I sigh.

"Am I going to get killed because of you, Mr Holmes?" I say then realise he's still holding my hand. I get my hand free and he looks surprised like he had forgotten he was holding it. Makes two of us.

"Hopefully not." He replies as we get onto Baker Street. "I've grown fond of you. You're like my accessory."

_Thank you all for the support and I hope you keep reading! I'm gonna send you all invisible scarfs and Sherlock-style coats. _


	3. Chapter 3

"I'll be back at four, Sherlock." I say and he stares at me, confused.

"Where are you going?" Sherlock sits up from his position lying on the rug and frowns.

"I told you this last night. After we came back from looking at the body last night." I slide my sunglasses over my nose and check my watch. "I'll see you later."

I walk out and down the street to the library I've just got a job at, part time. God knows. I need to get away from Sherlock for a while.

**Xxx**

I'm re-stacking some books when I hear the sound of Sherlock's voice coming from the main desk. I groan and try to listen in. "Does a Trish Jennifer work here?" He asks.

"Yes, she's just started today. Can I help you?" The sweet old woman who runs the library Peggy Rogers says and I peer round the corner of the bookshelf.

Sherlock is looking handsome in the light of the library. His cheekbones are gorgeous and his hair is messy but looks like he's just had a night of...ahem...that with the love of his life.

"I'm her roommate, William Sherlock Holmes. I was wondering if I could speak to her for a moment." He says and I step out as he adds respectfully, "ma'am."

"William?" I say and he blushes.

"Sherlock. Please. May I speak to her?" He turns to Peggy and she nods then winks at me.

"Go on, love. Take your lunch hour early. Have two hours actually. There aren't many people in here on Monday." Peggy smiles.

"Oh good." Sherlock grabs my arm and drags me behind a bookshelf. "We need to go to the archives. The newspaper archives. In here." "Why?" I sigh. "Let me guess. It's for that case."

Sherlock just looks at me then glances at Peggy who is quite obviously eavesdropping. "Yes." He whispers. I look at him. I don't know why but I search his eyes. He looks agitated; restless; afraid. That gives me the incentive I need and I lead him to the archives in the basement with thoughts swirling through my head.

He starts to haul boxes off the shelves and puts them on the table in the middle of the room. I copy him and once they're all on the table, all the boxes from the last sixty years, we both stop. "What now?" I ask but he's too busy staring at me. It's getting unnerving- all this staring but I wait it out.

Finally, he blinks and drags his eyes away from me to check his watch. "We have an hour and a half left," he tells me. "Look for anything mentioning the black lotus, smuggling, Chinese smuggling or artefacts going missing."

"Sure thing, William." I smirk and he glared at me.

"Sherlock!" He says, insistently and my smile widens.

**Xxx**

"I've brought you down some tea and biscuits." Peggy ventures down an hour later. "Just so you don't get hungry."

"Thanks, Mrs Rogers." I smile at her and take the tea. Sherlock just raises his hand at her and waves slightly. She looks at us, nods and goes back up the stairs. "You should have said thank you." I tell Sherlock.

"Mm." He mutters and I carry on reading the article. I look up a few minutes later to swap it and see him smiling at me. His smile is crooked and genuine. He looks happy. And sort of serene.

I sip my tea.

"You look nice," Sherlock comments and I choke on the tea. It splatters over a box and I cough. He ignores my coughing fit but waits until I've finished before he adds, "in that dress." Which is an unremarkable navy blue one with daisies. "And you look...uh pretty."

"Thanks. You look nice too." I say.

And sitting there in a library archives, drinking tea and reading newspapers, I start to feel an iota of something for Sherlock Holmes other than annoyance and friendship.

_I just banged in a captain America reference there. See if anyone guesses what it is. _

_;) more invisibility scarves_

_Pokessasin: ah but mine are special invisibility scarves and coats. Bet yours don't have invisible glitter. _


	4. Chapter 4

"I don't get it." I frown at the picture he's holding out to me. A man wearing a coat and with a cunning smile is blurred as he walks on a street. "Who is it?"

Sherlock sighs and leans back in his chair. He closes his eyes and I take a moment to admire his cheekbones. "My arch-enemy." He opens his eyes to stare at me. "Jim Moriarty."

"You have an arch enemy?" I smirk. "Who has an arch enemy nowadays?"

"I do."

I laugh and sip my tea. We are sat in a cafe, both with cups of tea and Sherlock holding his laptop. He taps a few keys and turns it round to show me. I look at the image of a big white lab. "What's this?" I ask and look at the website. "Baskerville? That research facility where they do all those mad experiments?"

"The only time I have ever felt scared was near that facility. I saw a beast. With glowing fur and red eyes." He tells me. He then stands up and walks out of the cafe. I throw money onto the table and hurry after him.

"Sherlock? Sherlock!" I catch up with him. "why did you tell me that?"

"People tell people who mean something to them important things." Sherlock says simply as he walks down an alley.

My jaw drops. I mean something to him? I've known him three days. I follow him down the alley then I hear a gunshot. I spin round in time to see someone hit me and then I black out.

...

I wake up in a dimly lit room, my head throbbing. I sit up, looking around. "Sherlock?" I whisper. "Sherlock?"

There is no reply and I sob, curling up into a ball. Please don't say he has gotten himself shot. Right after he told me I meant something to him.

Maybe it's something to do with Moriarty, his enemy. Or the black lotus gang. Or...anyone who doesn't like him really.

Finally the door screeches open and someone drags me out. I yell out but I soon realise I'm not going to get any help. Everyone stares at me, threateningly as I pass them and I am led to a posh looking man with a sly smile.

"Trish, it's a pleasure to meet such a pretty young lady in this kind of event. Normally all my enemy's close friends are men. I thought I would have to kidnap the soldier." The man says smoothly.

I glare at him. "Where is Sherlock?" I say.

"Who knows? I shot him in the arm and then left him in that alley. He's probably yelling at some police officers now to make them find you quicker."

"Or coming here himself." I reply.

"I doubt it. Too trivial for the great consulting detective. I expect he's already moved on, actually." The man smirks then the door slams open and I turn round as his smile drops.

Sherlock walks in, holding a gun. He looks mad. Really mad. His hair is windswept and his arm is in a sling. "I don't move on that easily, Jim."

Moriarty. I watch Sherlock intently as he comes closer but he doesn't even look my way. "You tried to kidnap John before. It didn't work."

"This is your new assistant?"

"Roommate." I correct him.

"She's my roommate for the summer. Jim, she is innocent. Why would you think she means anything to me? She doesn't. You know me. I don't get sentimental over toys." Sherlock says coldly. I feel my eyes water and quickly wipe them before anyone can see. Sherlock notices though.

So does Moriarty by his wide smile. "How cruel you are, Sherlock. Poor girl. Believed you liked her."

"I don't like her so that doesn't matter. Let her go."

"Wait-" my voice is hesitant but the pair look over at me. I glare at Sherlock. "Look, we don't see to be in any danger here despite this guy being your arch enemy."

"How sweet that you said that," Moriarty says.

I ignore him. "You told me that I meant something. Literally two minutes before I got taken. What does that mean?"

"It means he likes you." Moriarty chimes in.

"Shut up."

"Oh I like her."

"Shut up." Sherlock copies me.

Moriarty scowls. "You two can go now. I'm tired of your boring arguing. Only wanted to see you, dear."

"Don't kidnap my roommate next time." He walks out of the room. Moriarty grins at me and I storm out behind him. We are in a warehouse and there's a taxi waiting outside. We both get in and sit in silence until we're home.

...

Later that night, Sherlock still hasn't spoken to me. Mrs H came to see that we were alright, John phoned although he didn't seem very concerned and Lestrade popped round to bring Sherlock his phone back.

I check my own phone as I pour us some tea. Two messages from my mother. I delete them and sit down next to Sherlock. "Do you want some tea?"

He doesn't reply but takes a cup. I bite my lip. "Hey, I'm grateful for what you did today. Rescuing me. Uh it was brave."

"I had to." He says. "Lestrade was being slow."

"Oh. Well, thank you."

"You're welcome."

I put down my cup and look into his bright eyes. "You look like you need a hug."

"I don't need a hug." A flicker of a smile.

"I think you do."

"Trish-"

I hug him and burrow my head into his neck. He smells of soap and...Sherlock-ness. He briefly pats my back then we break apart. "Told you that you needed a hug." I say.

"What happened to those stimulating conversations about philosophy we were going to have?" He sighs but smiles.

"Went out the window when you said it meant something to you. Now we talk about hugging. And unicorns."

"I'm not talking about unicorns."

"But we are now. See? It's a contagious thing. I'm going to go to bed." I add and stand up. I'm halfway to the door when i feel a hand on my arm. I turn round and smile at him. "I'm tired. Let me sleep."

"I told you that I once felt scared. But it was a drug-induced fear. Experimental drugs and all that. But today, I felt real fear. I thought Moriarty would be torturing you or have already killed you. I was scared. I don't know why. But I was bloody terrified."

I stare for a moment. "Nice speech. But I thought I was just a new toy."

"I lied. You're much more."

"Good." I kiss his cheek and pad to my room. When he can't see me, I look back and see him touching where I'd kissed him, a gentle smile on his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

I'm heading out of work, after locking up, the next day when a car pulls up and a woman gets out. "Are you Patricia Jennifer?" She asks and I sigh.

"Yes. Is this something to do with Sherlock?"

She smiles at me, "the Holmes boys are very..let's say strange.." She says and gestures to the car. "Please, we'll drive you home."

"Thanks," I say and quickly get in. She sits beside me and the car sets off. "Boys? Sherlock has a brother?"

"Mycroft Holmes, I work for him," she looks at her phone. "He wouldn't get by without me."

"Oh. Okay."

We pull up outside 221 and get out. I follow her up the stairs, waving to Mrs H, and then into my flat. Sherlock's flat, should I say. "Trish, my brother has summoned us both here for reasons he won't yet divulge."

Sherlock is sat in his chair, polishing his violin. I run my hand through his hair, making his curls even more unruly, with a grin. "Hey," I say and sit on the arm-rest. Mycroft, I presume, is wearing a smart navy suit and looking stern. I have to bury the urge to giggle as he dismisses the woman with a few whispered words. Sherlock looks at me and sees my smile, his own slowly appearing.

"Brother, do we really have to go through all this fuss? You could just text me and arrange to meet up for some coffee," he says.

"Or pancakes," I add. They both stare at me. I blush. "I'm in the mood for pancakes."

"I'll get Mrs Hudson to make you some," Sherlock says.

"Or you can make some. She's not your housekeeper."

"Make them yourself then. I'm not your boyfriend." He stops and my cheeks go even redder. Last night's cheek kiss swims into my head and I look down at my knees. "Mycroft, what do you want?" Sherlock says finally.

"I was wondering about your new roommate and how it would affect you," Mycroft Holmes says and I look up. Huh? How would I affect Sherlock? "I see that you're already quite...affected, judging by the awkwardness after you said that you weren't her boyfriend." Oh.

I glance up at Sherlock. His face is blank as usual. I'd just gotten him to start smiling every so often and now my hard work was reversed. "I'm not affected, Mycroft," he says.

"You rescued her from Moriarty."

"I had no choice. She is my roommate. Lestrade was being slow."

"You got shot for her."

"No," I chime in. "They were going for Sherlock, weren't they? They were trying to shoot him? He didn't-what?"

They're both staring at me again. Mycroft looks amused and Sherlock looks pained. "Shall I tell her or will you, dearest brother mine?"

"I will," Sherlock says stiffly. "Trish-"

"Yes?"

"Trish, the gun was aimed at you. I was about a metre off, fighting someone else they didn't kidnap me. They were about to pull the trigger. I panicked. I ran for you, the bullet hit my arm, thankfully and you're fine. I just got shot. It's minor..."

"Thankfully? You could have been killed because of me! I thought it was aimed at you...I'm sure.." I trail off and watch the brothers shift uncomfortably. "Is there something else you're not telling me?"

"Patricia," Mycroft begins then doesn't say anything else.

"What? Just tell me. Why did you do that? Why did you-"

"I've got a case." Sherlock stands up abruptly and I watch him put on his coat. "Lestrade is outside. Goodnight, Mycroft, Trish."

He barely looks at me as he leaves and I look helplessly at Mycroft. He is scrutinising me with tired eyes. His whole body looks tired. His shoulders are drooping. Then he stands up. "I'd better be going too." He says.

"Where to?" I stand up, feeling slightly lonely.

"Home."

"Alone?" I ask and he nods. "Why don't you stay here? I can make something to eat and we can...play a board game or something. Chess? Sherlock taught me how to play but I'm still not very good."

"Sherlock taught you?" His eyes widen. "Teaching someone takes a lot of patience and free time. Sherlock doesn't have either."

"He was the one who offered."

"In that case, I shall stay. Tell me about your life, I can tell you about what Sherlock got up to as a young boy."

I laugh and walk into the kitchen. "Tea?" I offer. He smiles and sits down at the table.

"Yes please, Patricia. Now, Sherlock always wanted to be a pirate..."


	6. Chapter 6

**This is more angst so apologies if you don't like that sort of stuff. Sherlock's been taking drugs and there's blood so sorry. **

I look up from the newspaper as Sherlock walks through the front door. "You've been gone all night," I say disapprovingly. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Solving a case," he mutters and takes off his coat.

I instantly see how some of his shirt sleeves has small rips and there are bloodstains around his wrists. "You've been in a fight?" I ask. He just looks at me. "Sherlock? Have you been in a fight?"

"I went to a drug den. I got in a fight over who's cocaine it was. It was a passed out boy's but I claimed it. I took it." Sherlock says. I stare at him. "I took the cocaine and here I am, at nine in the morning, and you've not had a good nights sleep. Tell me why."

"You did what?" My voice keeps faltering in disbelief. "Sherlock Holmes, please tell me that you aren't a...let it be a one time thing. Sherlock. Tell me that it was only last night," I say.

"I'm going for a bath," he says listlessly and walks off. I stare at his retreating back. I would call Lestrade for a drug search but I don't want Sherlock to get arrested. I can't call Mycroft; although he assured me that he would be reachable at all times with the numbers he have me. I can't tell Mrs Hudson. Molly Hooper...no.

Then it hits me. John Watson, his real roommate and best friend. He would know what to do. I sneak into Sherlock's bedroom as I hear the tap running and some splashing. His phone is on the bed, neatly aligned with his folded outfit for today. I recognise Mycroft's work.

He must have realised that Sherlock wouldn't be home and so made things easier for him in his drug-hangover.

My insides curl at the thought that Sherlock takes drugs but I quickly find John's mobile number and memorise it. I don't dare send him a text from Sherlock's phone but I examine his texts.

Mostly to John and Lestrade. An odd one to Mycroft and two to me.

I put it down and turn round when I hear a voice. "You're not going to find drugs in there, Trish," Sherlock says coldly.

"I wasn't looking for drugs, Sherlock."

"Of course. You were looking for John's number." He sighs. "Are you going to tell him?"

"I have to. In case you...relapse."

"I thought my brother would have told you all about my little drug problem. He can't wait to embarrass me and prove that he is the superior one, usually."

I shake my head at him. "Sherlock, why?" I ask. "Is it because of what Mycroft said about the awkwardness after what you said about being my boyfriend?"

"No." Sherlock walks away and locks himself in the bathroom.

I run into the kitchen, grab my phone and slide into some sandals. I leave a note for Sherlock saying I'm meeting a friend and then set off for a cafe I know.

Once I'm sat down, I get out my phone and type in John's number. It starts ringing and he picks it up instantly. "John Watson here," he says.

I bite my lip before starting. "Hi, I'm Trish Jennifer, Sherlock's summer roommate..."

"What's he done?" The annoyance in his voice is clear and I wonder how many times he has to smooth over Sherlock's insults and problems.

"Last night he was up all night at a drug den. He took cocaine. I didn't know who else to call." I say quickly.

"No...not now...not when I can't get him to stop," he says. "Listen, have you left him alone? Is he alone?"

"Yes. He was having a bath-" I stop and get up immediately. "I'm going back now. I'll reach him in two minutes."

And I run, phone limply in my hand, glad I didn't bring any bags. I reach 221 Baker Street and run up the stairs. I hammer on the bathroom door, making Mrs Hudson jump. "Oh, dear, what's wrong?"

"Sherlock!" I yell and start kicking the door.

"It's open," he says breathily, through the door. I don't like the pain in his voice, the weakness. "Don't let her see."

"Mrs Hudson," I turn to the bemused woman, "please go call John and tell him to come back as soon as he can. And call an ambulance. Then call Mycroft and tell him to come here right now."

She hurries off and I open the door with a soft click. The bathroom is in darkness, even the blind is shut. "Sherlock?" I whisper, my heart racing. "Please answer me. Sherlock..."

I reach for the switch and flick it. Light floods the room. Sherlock, pale and sweating, lies in bloody bath water. His arms are marked with punctures from the injections and are bleeding and his bullet wound has opened up. I don't think about how he's naked or how I'm going to regret all this. I just take in the horror of the scene as I kneel by the bath tub.

"Sherlock..." I stroke his hair back, my lips gently resting on his forehead.

"Trish, I'm sorry," he replies quietly. His body is shaking and I try to not make any startling movements as I move away. "Who have you told..."

"I told Mrs H to call John and Mycroft," I say. "Sherlock, you have to hang on. God I know you're losing a lot of blood but hang on, for my sake. And John's sake. And your family's sake. Please don't die."

"As if I could leave you here without me," he says softly, just as the ambulance men come into the bathroom, yelling instructions and taking him away from me.


	7. Chapter 7

"Trish?" Sherlock's hoarse voice whispers and I instantly look down at him, my eyes filling with tears. He's awake. I don't know if that's good or bad because he looks in pain but I was scared. Scared that he wouldn't wake up and he would leave me here, despite what he said.

"Sherlock," I say, trying to sound as light and happy as possible, "you're awake."

"Obviously."

"We've all been worried," I tell him and stroke his hair. It reminds me painfully of the scene that's forever branded into my memory but it seems to soothe him so I don't stop. "John came rushing over until you get better, he says. Mycroft tries not to show that he cares but he's been anxious ever since he got here. Mrs Hudson, well, I told her to go home and rest. I didn't think she needed to know the extent of your problem yet."

"She'll see the blood in the bath," he tells me and I curse myself for not realising. "But thank you for considering her."

I smile and lean down to rest my face on his. Our eyes are barely a centimetre apart and our lips are even closer. I don't dare breathe as his hands make their way up to curl around my neck. I think we're going to kiss, I hope we're going to kiss then the door opens.

"Sherlock!" John says and I quickly, blushing, stand up. "Hi," John says to me, confused.

Sherlock doesn't seem to share my embarrassment and just looks at him. "Hello, John, sorry about this. It's an inconvenience, I'm betting. Also, sorry about my new roommate-"

"Temporary roommate," I say with a forced grin.

"She gets emotional and then she has the odd need to get close to me." Sherlock continues, ignoring me.

I glare at him and fold my arms in anger. "You weren't complaining, Holmes," I retort.

"Why would I? A beautiful and intelligent girl wants to get up close to me when she knows how destructive I am." Sherlock looks at me with a faint smile. "Even I don't object to that."

"Okay," John sits where I was sat, on the chair by Sherlock's bed. I lean against the wall, still embarrassed about what I did but oddly pleased about what Sherlock said. The old charmer. "What brought the drugs on?"

Sherlock looks pained. "Hasn't Mycroft told you? It seems the interfering kind of thing he would do."

"He cares about you, Sherlock," I tell him and he rolls his eyes.

"No. He hasn't."

"My brother thinks that I-" Sherlock looks at me. "Patricia-"

"Trish," I growl.

"_Trish_, please can you just leave the room for a moment while I confide in John." I raise my eyebrow but walk out and shut the door. Luckily the walls are thin in this private hospital so I listen in. Overhear is a better word. It justifies what I'm doing. I hear Sherlock sigh then he carries on. "Mycroft thinks that I am developing a strong attachment to Trish."

"And are you?"

"I'm not sure."

"The great Sherlock Holmes isn't sure about something?" I can hear the amusement in John's voice. "Why does Mycroft think that?"

"I took a bullet for her. Got my arm." There's a brief silence then Sherlock speaks up again, "I rescued her from Moriarty. Went straight there without a thought or a plan. Didn't even tell Lestrade. Normally I take time to think, to be logical before I rescue people but this time..I just got his location and went."

"People do strange things for the people they love," John says.

"I don't love her. You're worse than Mycroft and Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. Mycroft implying that I do and the stress of maintaining a non-sociopathic personality when I'm with her...it was just too much, John. So I went to a drugs den. I did drugs. I injected myself."

Suddenly I feel sick. Tears drip down my cheeks and I am going to throw up. I get to the bathroom in time but it does nothing to relieve the heaviness in my stomach. I am the reason Sherlock could have died. _Twice_. I remind myself of the bullet he took for me. God.

I walk straight out of the reception. Hail a taxi. Pay the fare. Walk past Mrs Hudson. Into the flat. Slam the door and lock it. I can't think straight and my stomach hurts. I'm the reason why Sherlock did drugs again.

I hurt him. "I hurt him!" I yell and throw a book against the wall. It hits it but doesn't do any damage. My yells turn into sobs and I go into his room. I lie on his bed and cry myself to sleep.

When I wake up, someone is led down next to me. Sherlock's dark eyes pierce mine and our hands are entwined. I don't remember him coming in and he must have held my hand first. We're so close that I can feel him breathing. "For a sociopath, you like contact," I whisper.

"I like you," he whispers back. "John's asleep in your bed. I assumed that's alright because really, it's his bed. We escaped the hospital. It was boring me." I don't say anything but my hand tightens around his. "You heard me didn't you?"

"Yes. I made you do it," my throat closes up as I speak and my chest hurts.

"No, never think that. It was my choice. And I hurt us both in the process. I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. For running off," I blink away oncoming sudden tears. "I should have stayed."

"You're here now. That's all that matters," Sherlock says and he moves forward and he kisses me gently. It's only for two seconds then he detaches. I'm left wishing for more but he gives my hand a squeeze. "I need some sleep. Stay with me?"

"Yes," I whisper and cuddle so my head is on his chest. "Always."


	8. Chapter 8

I wake up to someone yelling. After a second of disorientation, I realise I'm in Sherlock's bedroom. In Sherlock's bed. I hastily get up and out of his room before I get curious and go through his things.

Sherlock is sat on his chair, in a thinking position, as John yells at him about irresponsible and stupid. "Morning," I say and he stops shouting to glance over at me briefly.

"Hi, Trish. Sorry. Did I wake you up?"

"No. Well, yeah kind of but it's fine. Yell away. He was an irresponsible idiot," I say. Sherlock looks up at me, eyebrow raised and a smirk on his face. He opens his mouth, probably to make some comment about last night, and I flush. "Don't you dare."

"What do you mean?" He grins. I just tut at him and wander off into the kitchen. There's some breakfast show coming from the radio so I turn it up as it starts playing an upbeat song. God knows we need some cheeriness in our lives.

As the song ends, Sherlock walks in. "John's gone. Can I have some tea?"

"Make it yourself." I busy myself with buttering toast. He grabs my waist and kisses my shoulder.

"Please may you make me a delicious cup of tea, Trish?" He asks.

I laugh but there's a knot of worry in my stomach. Since when was me and him on kissing and making breakfast together terms? He was...flirting. And this was Sherlock. Sherlock doesn't flirt. Unless he wants something. I turn round and he smiles at me but I'm searching his eyes. He looks innocent- as innocent as he can look after everything. That thought makes me want to throw up.

"What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say and instead of doing what I want to do and slapping him for making me worry, I wrap my arms around his shoulders. "Nothing's wrong."

"Ahem." I jump back as John walks in, staring. "I forgot my coat," he tells us and picks up a jacket from the table. "So...I'll be back in a few hours. I'm meeting Mike for a catch up. Sherlock, don't do anything mad when I'm gone, okay?"

"Course I won't." Sherlock says. John shoots us a suspicious look then walks back out, shutting the door behind him. Sherlock looks at me and starts laughing.

"What?" He carries on laughing. "What?" I snap, irritated.

"Your face when he walked in. He's walked in on far worse than this, Trish."

"I just don't want to be the kind of girl who...I don't know...sleeps with the great famous detective. I mean...I'm not sure but..." I shrug. "Sherlock...are we a permanent thing? You're not going to dump me after you've got what you want are you?"

"Got what I want?" He looks confused and amused. "I don't want anything, Patricia."

"Trish!"

"Trish, I don't want anything. I just want a nice stable girlfriend who makes me attend boring parties her friends are hosting and makes me eat." Sherlock looks like eating is the worse thing I could force him to do.

"I'll be really busy in September. Starting uni and all."

"I don't care. I'm always busy."

"Okay then," I smile and kiss him properly. It's our first real kiss and all the hurt just seems to fade away. I realise I've closed my eyes and I'm putting too much into this kiss so I open them. He's watching me intently and I can feel his smile.

"You look surprisingly beautiful like that," he tells me. I ignore the surprisingly bit and take it as a compliment. "You look pretty all the time. But when you're kissing me, you look like you're glowing. Radiant."

"I-" I stop and pull him closer towards me. This kiss is even better.


	9. Chapter 9

By seven, John is back and we're all eating spaghetti over a game of Monopoly. We let Sherlock be the banker because he practically begged us. "Can I buy this shop, babe?" I ask. Oops. It kind of just slipped out.

John's obviously hiding his smile but I ignore him and look at Sherlock instead. He's smiling at me. "Of course..._babe_." I blush and hand him some money.

"I'm going to make some tea and maybe put some garlic bread in. Do you want any?" John asks, grinning. I shake my head, still too mortified for words.

"No, thank you, John," Sherlock says. "I would like a hot chocolate though."

I wait until John's in the kitchen before turning to Sherlock, full of apologies. "Um, Sherlock, listen, I didn't mean babe when I said babe. It's just instinct. Sometimes...when I think I'm in-uh-no...don't listen to me." I stop.

"When you think you're in what, Patricia?" Sherlock asks. He leans forward and scoops hair out of my face. I freeze up. "Breathe," he whispers. How does he expect me to breathe? Damn detective.

"When I'm in a close-contact situation," I say quickly. He smirks and leans back as the front door opens and Lestrade comes in.

"Sherlock, your cosy evening in is cancelled." He looks round the room and nods at John. I notice that he's ignoring me. He's obviously been talking to Sherlock's brother. "Moriarty is at the Yard and he refuses to say anything until he can talk to you."

...

I sit in the interrogation room, across from Jim Moriarty. He's wearing that same scary smile as he was when he kidnapped me. It could be quite pleasant, that smile, but his eyes are dead. Dead, dark and dangerous.

"Hello again, Trish," he says. "How are you getting along with Sherlock?"

"Just fine, Jim," I reply with the same light tone. "How are the handcuffs? Not too tight?"

"They're great. Now why did you want to see me before Sherlock even got to see me?"

"Stop messing around with him. Why did you pick him as your mortal enemy? What's so different about Sherlock Holmes?" I ask. I know the answer. Sherlock Holmes is a million miles away from the same as everyone else. Genius. Sociopath. Detective. Friend. Roommate. Beautiful. Dangerous. Sexy.

"He's Sherlock. Why don't you work it out? He can't fool you with his little act any longer." Moriarty leans forward and I try not to flinch, staring back intensely. "Don't you ever wonder why he let you stay, Patricia Drake, daughter of Thomas Drake?"

The door opens and I sit back and Sherlock glances down at me. "Trish-" he begins. Then frowns. "What's wrong?"

"N-nothing." I stammer. "It's just...why did you choose me? To be your roommate?"

"That's the same thing John asked."

"And I bet he got a real answer."

"I chose you because you had nowhere left to go," he tells me. "Satisfied?"

"No."

"Please leave this room but stay in the Yard. We need to talk later and I don't know how long I'll be in here," Sherlock says. I walk out, feeling dismissed.

As the door swings shut, I hear Moriarty say, "lovely girl."

Sherlock just snaps, "shut up."

...

I don't stick around. I don't wait round for Moriarty to tell Sherlock everything about me. I go straight back to the flat and start packing. My last name- my real last name- still has influence. If I mention it, I'm guaranteed a bed for the night somewhere. Sherlock won't be home until tomorrow and then he won't be able to follow me.

I finish packing and quickly shut my suitcase. Last check around John's room. It's not mine anymore. It never was. I was always shadowed by John Watson, Sherlock's true roommate. "Thank you," I whisper to the room. For the memories.

For Sherlock.


	10. Chapter 10

_Sherlock POV_

I look around the flat, my heart racing as I note all the little differences. Trish's things are gone, her shoes no longer thrown across the floor but her distinctive scent is still lingering. Perfume and vanilla and just _her_.

"Trish?" I call out but I know that she won't answer. It doesn't stop me searching every room, my breath quickening. "Patricia? Please. Patricia." My voice sounds needy and pathetic and sentimental. _Sentiment_. I sigh at myself. "Patricia Jennifer, _please_," I whisper.

"Sherlock?" It's John. I realise I've made a full walk around the flat and I'm back in the living room. John is at the doorway, his face full of pity. "She's gone, hasn't she?"

"Yes."

"Did Moriarty tell you anything?"

"No."

"Did she say why she left?"

"No."

"Do you know why she left?"

"No."

"Sherlock." There's a strange tone in John's voice. "Sherlock. Look at me. Sherl-"

"Why? John, why do you want me to look at you?" I interrupt him. "I'm fine. She left and that's okay. Everyone leaves in the end. She was leaving at the end of the summer anyway."

"You're crying," John says gently and I quickly wipe away the tears that I hadn't even been aware of. She ran because she was scared. I know that. She was scared that I would find out about who she really is. I grab my wallet and make sure there's money in it before I walk out of the flat. I need to go to find her.

"Don't follow me," I tell John. "If you trust me, don't follow me."

I can feel him watching me as I run down the stairs but he stays where he is.

***..***

_Trish POV_

I watch the woman in white carefully cut through an apple then place it on a plate. My fathers new wife. Angela. She's around forty and strawberry blonde and pale and cold. "Thomas will be here soon."

"Thank you," I say and awkwardly look round the kitchen. My phone buzzes but I ignore it. Most likely Sherlock or John but dread keeps flaring up that it's Moriarty and he's telling me that he's told Sherlock who I am. I love the goddamn detective and I'm lying to him.

"Why are you here, Patricia?"

The name makes a gutting feeling of remorse flash through me. "Trish. It's Trish. Only-um, I mean. No-one calls me Patricia."

"Fine. _Trish_, why are you here?" Angela asks with a frown.

"I had to leave the flat I was sharing with my...friend. I just need a place to stay for a few weeks. Two weeks. Then I'll be gone," I tell her.

"Who was your friend?" Angela asks. "I'm not having some police officer come here to look for you and find out about everything." Everything means the illegal businesses my father runs and the secrets and the lies and the blackmailing of influential people.

"Sherlock Holmes. Consulting detective." I say and try to watch her face. Deducting her reaction. Deducting. Damn. Stop. Thinking. Of. Sherlock.

"No. Get out," Angela snaps. "You love that Sherlock, it's written all over your face. I can't have him storming in here, with his police force-"

I laugh before I can stop myself. The image of Lestrade running after Sherlock, with a badge saying Sherlock's Special Police Force, had popped into my mind. Angela looks furious so I quickly step back. Then I feel a hand on my shoulder. "Patricia."

My heart stops and I jerk away from Sherlock's touch. He looks tired but I don't have the time to worry about him, my heart is racing. "Both of you. Out of my house." Angela snarls.

"I can't go back with him," I say quickly. "I'm sorry. I didn't know he'd find me so easily."

"Why wouldn't he? He's been tracking us for months. Sherlock Holmes and his big brother." Angela hisses. "Bet he knew who you were too, Trish. And he tricked you. You fell in love with him and-"

"If you don't stop insulting my roommate, I will turn you over to the British government," Sherlock says coldly. "Me and Patricia are going home. I won't tell Mycroft- hell, I won't even tell John- but you don't hurt my roommate."

"Roommate," I sigh. Angela's face contorts then she slams her hand on the table.

"Go then. Before I change my mind about her."

Sherlock smiles triumphantly and holds my arm, guiding me out. "I am very sorry, Patricia, for not telling you the truth."

I wait until we're outside before turning to him, tears pouring down my face. "You knew. You let me be your roommate so you could track me?"

"No. It's not like that anymore." Sherlock sighs. "As soon as I saw you, I stopped. I told Mycroft that you weren't Thomas Drake's daughter. That I'd got it wrong."

"When you saw me?" I ask, sniffing.

"I fell in love with you," Sherlock touches my cheek gently. It doesn't feel real. It doesn't feel like him. How can I trust anything he says, anymore? _How_?

"No. Sherlock, no. Don't do this," I say. "You don't love me."

"I love you."

"No."

"Yes, Patricia Jennifer-"

"Drake," I correct him. His smile doesn't waver as he laughs.

"Patricia Drake, I love you and I wouldn't want to be in a world where I know you but without you by my side," Sherlock pulls me closer and I smile at him softly.

"Sherlock," I whisper but he cuts me off by kissing me. I run my hands through his hair and pull on his curls gently. His lips are hot and I feel like fireworks are exploding in my brain. I pull him closer to me and he grins into my mouth.

"Yes, Trish?" He detaches from me and I pout.

"I love you, Sherlock."

"Hmmm. Really?" He says. "Prove it." And so I kiss him again.


End file.
